This is the writer's voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Deborah Treasman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Yee and Lee read her story on the Street

Where You Live from the January 9th, 2017 issue of the magazine.

Lee is the author of two novels and two story collections, Gold Boy Emerald Girl, and A Thousand Years of Good Prayers.

She's been publishing fiction and nonfiction in The New Yorker since 2003.

Now here's Yian Lee.

Music since 2003. Now here's Yian Lee. On the street, where you live. On the street where you live.

Had she been born a different era, Becky thought, and without education to qualify as a governess,

she might have become a wet nurse, offering nourishment in the most mindless form to an infant from a wealthy family.

But the idea, explored in detail what, who, when, where, why, how, those questions Becky had obediently followed in grade school without recognizing the terror of such scrutiny was disturbing, not even a legitimate secret.

You know, I hate museums.

The man next to Becky leaned over

so that she alone could hear this confession.

She nodded.

To be a wet nurse, one had to be a mother first.

What was the point of wishing for that profession then?

It makes me angry, the man said as he and Becky joined the others in clapping. The woman who was

taking the podium was the director of this freshly remodeled San Francisco Museum. It makes me angry that I don't own the artwork.

I would hate to share with others.

They will never see what I see.

He wore a bright red necktie,

...